David Robbins - New York Run

Farrow was taken unawares by the question. “I never gave it much consideration,” she admitted. “I guess I kill because I’m a professional soldier. It’s what I’m trained to do.”

“Do you like to kill?”

“Not particularly,” she confessed. “It’s my job.”

“Do you love the Technics?” Yama asked.

“Love the Technics? You mean the way you do the Family?” Farrow laughed. “Not hardly! They’re all so damn selfish and self-centered! There’s not much to love!”

They were nearly to the infirmary doorway. Yama stopped and stared at Farrow. “So you kill because it’s what they trained you to do, but you don’t really like killing and you don’t much like the Technics you kill for?”

Farrow did a double take. “I never looked at it that way.”

“What other way is there to look at it?” Yama retorted. “Frankly, I don’t see how you live with your soul.”

“What do you mean?”

“Look at yourself. Take a good, hard look. You’re in a rut, stuck in a vocation you care little for, serving people you like even less. Where’s your sense of self-worth? Where’s your dignity as a cosmic daughter of our Maker?” He shook his head. “I don’t see how you do it.” He stepped to the doorway. “Come on.”

“Yama…” Farrow said tentatively.

He hesitated, standing in the doorway to the giant cement Block. “Yes?”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For saving my life back there,” Farrow said.

“You saved mine,” he reminded her.

“And…” she began groping for the right words, “and for opening a window.”

Now it was his turn to show bewilderment. “A window?”

“Yeah. A window to the soul I never knew I had.” Farrow smiled, genuine affection lighting her dark eyes. “Thank you,” she reiterated softly, gently.

Yama’s blue eyes touched hers. “Any time.”

“How much longer before we reach Chicago?” Blade demanded, concentrating on steering the SEAL around the multiple obstacles in the highway; there were ruts and cracks, potholes and mini-trenches, and even whole sections of former U.S. Highway 12 were buckled and impassable or missing, necessitating constant detours to avoid the problem spots.

“We should reach the outskirts of Technic City soon,” Captain Wargo replied.

The SEAL had been on the road for three days, three relatively uneventful days of traveling while the sun was up and pulling over to rest at night. They deliberately skirted the larger cities in their path, knowing from painful experience such urban centers were invariably dominated by violent street gangs or other hostile parties. The smaller towns and hamlets they encountered were usually devoid of life and in abject disrepair. Three towns did show signs of current habitation, but the occupants had obviously fled at the sight of the gargantuan green SEAL, its huge tires, tinted body, sophisticated solar panels, and militaristic contours all lending an ominous aspect to its appearance.

Blade was behind the steering wheel. Across from him, on the other side of a console, Captain Wargo was seated in the other bucket seat.

Hickok and Geronimo occupied a wide seat behind the bucket seats. The rear of the SEAL was devoted to storage space for their supplies.

“Technic City?” Hickok spoke up. “I thought we’re headin’ for Chicago?”

“Chicago was renamed long ago,” Captain Wargo said, “although some people still refer to it by that antiquated name.”

“You didn’t tell us this earlier,” Blade observed.

Wargo shrugged. “I didn’t think it was important.”

Blade repressed a frown. The more he came to know Wargo, the less he trusted the Technic. There was a sly, devious quality about the officer. So far, despite tactful probing by the three Warriors, Captain Wargo had stuck to his original story; the Technics wanted the Family’s assistance in retrieving the Genesis Seeds. Blade didn’t believe him for a moment, and had given orders for one of the Warriors to always be inside the SEAL even when they were parked for the night or taking “a nature break.” If Wargo intended to steal the SEAL, Blade wanted to insure the Technic never got the chance. But during their three-day journey Wargo had behaved himself.

Blade was beginning to wonder if he was wrong about the man.

“Our Minister is looking forward to seeing you,” Captain Wargo commented.

“Do tell,” Hickok quipped.

“He will reward you richly for your services,” Wargo said.

“We’ll be satisfied with our share of the Genesis Seeds,” Blade commented.

“Of course,” Captain Wargo said, grinning.

Blade wanted to punch the smug so-and-so right in the mouth.

“Will we be staying in Chicago… Technic City… long?” Geronimo asked.

“No,” Blade responded before Wargo could speak. “I want to reach New York City as quickly as possible.”

“There’s no rush,” Captain Wargo said pleasantly.

“There is for us,” Blade rejoined. “We want to get in, grab the Seeds, and get out. It’ll take us five days, maybe more, to reach New York. Another day to find the Seeds. Then five more days to Technic City and three more to the Home. All tolled, we’ll be gone from our Home about three weeks. I don’t like being away from the Home so long. The sooner we get back, the better.”

“I can appreciate your feelings,” Captain Wargo said, “but some things can’t be rushed. It may take us more than one day to locate the Genesis Seeds in New York.”

“You told us you know where they’re located,” Blade reminded him.

“We believe we know,” Captain Wargo amended his statement. “We think our earlier teams did find the building they’re in, but we really won’t know for certain until we descend to the underground vault and examine it.”

“Terrific!” Hickok muttered. “We come all this way, and it could all be a wild-goose chase!”

Captain Wargo twisted in his seat and glanced at each of them. “Don’t you understand how important this is?”

Hickok chuckled. “How can we forget with you remindin’ us every two seconds?”

Captain Wargo’s jaw muscles tightened. “I’m sorry if I seem to dwell on the subject, but the future of mankind is at stake.”

Geronimo suddenly leaned forward, pointing directly ahead. “Do you see what I see?”

Blade nodded. He’d seen it too. A giant metal fence across the highway ahead, its gleaming strands stretching into the distance on both sides of U.S. Highway 12.

“What the dickens is that?” Hickok queried.

As the SEAL drew nearer, Blade could ascertain more details. The fence was 15 feet high and tipped with four strands of barbed wire. Bright gray in color, the fence was a heavy-gauge mesh affair with peculiar metallic lobes or balls imbedded in the mesh at ten yard intervals. Each of these globes was a yard in diameter.

“You’d better slow down,” Captain Wargo advised. “They’re expecting us, but they might not recognize the SEAL and open fire.”

Blade could see a gate in the fence, and behind the gate, which was constructed of the same mesh as the fence, reared a huge guard tower.

Over 30 feet in height and positioned on the left side of the road, it was manned with machine guns and several figures in uniform.

“You can stop now,” Captain Wargo directed.

Blade applied the brakes, bringing the transport to a halt ten yards from the gate. “Do you have a fence blocking every road into the city?” he asked.

“We have a fence completely encircling the city,” Captain Wargo answered.

“You mean this fence goes all the way around Chicago?” Hickok asked the Technic.

“Technic City is surrounded by this fence,” Captain Wargo said. “It was built to keep unwanted intruders out. Do you see those regulators in the fence?”